


30 Days of Character Development

by Aiyestel



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Development, Character Study, Dragon Age - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 9,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aiyestel/pseuds/Aiyestel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 30 day character development meme for Niamh Hawke. May be AU (modern)and may switch from Niamh's POV to Nathaniel's at times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

_Describe your character’s relationship with their mother or their father, or both. Was it good? Bad? Were they spoiled rotten, ignored? Do they still get along now, or no?_

 **O-o-O**

She could still hear them sometimes. When she left behind the horrors and cruelty of the City of Chains and escaped to the empty, desolate expanse of the Wounded Coast. When she was there with her toes digging in the sand it seemed as if the wind carried their voices across the chasm that separated them. Maker, how she missed them.

They had left so much behind in Lothering but the thing that had hurt the most was leaving Father. He was long gone, having passed years before the Blight had begun, but there had been something comforting about being able to visit him when the world grew heavy on her shoulders.

But here in this city of suffering and death she had no place to go when it all closed in around her and though her mother would never admit it Niamh had known she felt the same way. So on one of those ridiculous forays into the wilds outside the city she had found a place that would suit her purpose. It was out of the way, hidden by a tangle of branches. There on a windswept little hillock she had laid a stone, carefully hand carved to honor a man whose body lay in a land across the sea but whose spirit followed her everywhere.

 _Malcolm Hawke_

 _Beloved Husband and Father_

And in the years to come when she lost more than she thought possible she would bring another stone to rest beside his. With eyes rimmed red from crying she would lay on the brown grass and rest her cheek against the cool stones and realize how much she had taken them for granted. She had believed they would always be there, her parents, heroes, protectors. It was a child’s delusion and fleeting at best.

But where they had gone she could not follow. And their absence only served to remind her she was a child no longer.


	2. Day Two

_What are your character's most prominent physical features?_

 **O-o-O**

He’d been down in these blasted tunnels for weeks. He used to tease the Commander about how she griped over their forays into the deep; now he felt the same way. How ironic.

There was a moment when he thought he’d reached the end. That he’d go out fighting darkspawn without the Old Gods screaming his name and reclaiming the taint that lay within his blood. With that small blessing it didn’t sound so unpleasant. But then other voices had cut through the fray. Swords and the cool sweep of magic had widened the circle of approaching genlocks, allowing him the room to maneuver his bow and finish off the fiends.

Perhaps he should have noticed an old friend among them first but his gray eyes were immediately drawn to the woman pulling her small dagger from the eye of a downed genlock. He watched her wipe it carefully on a rag that she then set ablaze.

There didn’t seem to be anything extraordinary about her at first glance but when her teal eyes lifted to his he couldn’t help but stare. There was a smile on her face. It was small, just barely there but somehow it softened her features, hiding small lines and dark circles. It was a cover up for pain deeply buried though how he knew that he couldn’t truly say.

Maybe he should have memorized her face or the color of her eyes. It made sense that he should have asked for her name. Instead he was focused on the way her raven hair fell across her face even after she brushed it back with errant fingers, leaving a smear of blood across her forehead. He itched to wipe it away; to leave nothing on her face but the smile that had lit up the darkness.


	3. Day Three

_Name one scar your character has, and tell us where it came from. If they don’t have any, is there a reason?_

 **O-o-O**

The sunlight cut through the sheer linen curtains, dappling her back with all sorts of intriguing patterns. He brushed them lazily with his fingers as she dozed, taking note of the way her lips parted in a soft sigh even in sleep.

He caught sight of the silver line of scar tissue that streaked across her ribs on her right side and bent his head to kiss it.

“Mmm.” Her murmur was so soft he almost missed it. “What are you doing awake so early?”

It wasn’t that early but he wasn’t going to contradict her. Maybe if he didn’t they could stay in bed all day together. He smiled and pressed his lips to her skin again. “I’m just admiring you.”

She half turned on her side and looked back at him over her shoulder. “You were watching me sleep?” she asked with a smile.

“I was.”

She flopped back down and pressed her face into the pillow. “You’re such a creeper.” He laughed against her skin and she squealed as it tickled her. “And a jerk!”

He ignored her protests and dragged a finger along the scar he’d discovered. “Where did you get this?”

She craned around to look and then laughed in a way that told him there was a story behind it; a story he wanted to hear. “That old thing? I got that back when I was twelve.”

She took his hand and brought it to her mouth so that he was draped over her back. “Well? Are you going to tell me the story?”

“The twins were playing with a couple of the neighbor kids down the street when one of them pushed Bethany off her bike and took it from her. You should have seen her, Nathaniel. She was all scraped up on her one cheek and elbows and knee. There were leaves in her hair and tears in her eyes. I was going to be her hero so I pushed up my sleeves and marched down there.

“They saw me coming but I was just a girl so they didn’t expect me to do anything. I shoved him off of her bike and punched him—right in the jaw. We scuffled a bit and I ended up falling over the bike and cutting myself. I was bloody by the time I came back but I had her bike and the way her little face lit up was all the thanks I needed.” She shifted so she could grin at him over her shoulder. “Plus, you should have seen the other guy.”

He could just picture her at twelve coming back bruised, bleeding and triumphant. It made him want to hear more.

“Do you have other scars with stories?” he asked. He rolled her over so he could kiss her mouth.

She waggled her eyebrows at him. “I might.”

“Will you tell me about them?”

She wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him back down for another kiss. When they finally broke apart she was smiling. “You just have to find them first.”


	4. Day Four

_How vain is your character? Do they find themselves attractive?_

O-o-O

He had a way of looking straight into her soul. He could be across the room leaning against a high-top table and she knew the instant his grey eyes found her. He could tell by the way she carried herself whether she was better met with a warm kiss or a cold brew.

When she was frustrated and exhausted she hunched her shoulders and closed in around herself, crossing her arms across her chest in a subconscious gesture meant to protect what little she felt she had left. That was met with a silent greeting a slight nod, a quirk of the lips he knew would melt her shell just enough to let herself accept the beer from him. It wasn’t so much the drink that relaxed her but the familiar. The time with friends where laughter was the focus and troubles were not swept under the rug but set aside for tackling later. When she let out that long sigh that told him she was finally letting it go he would kiss her and guide her focus to happier things.

Sometimes though, most of the time, she breezed in with a smile and a laugh and the beer was forgotten in favor of a warm greeting. If he was deep in a friendly debate with Varric or Fenris he would feel her hand slip into his back pocket as she joined them, greeting everyone with pecks on the cheek or a joke but saving a soft smile just for him.

The one thing that didn’t change was his greeting. Whether she was bubbly and smiling or melancholy he would lean in and tell her she looked beautiful. It didn’t matter to him if her lips curved up or down, if she had on a dress or was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a sweater with the sleeves bunched around her elbows after fidgeting and worrying all day. She was beautiful to him regardless.

“Why do you always say that?” she had asked once, her voice more curious than irritated. “I’m a mess.” She had gestured at her ink stained jeans and wrinkled blouse.

“Because it’s true,” he’d replied brushing back a lock of her raven hair and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You could be a mess or made up like a queen. It would make no difference to me.”

She’d rolled her eyes at him, but he saw the little shimmer of tears in them before she’d bounded off with Merrill to buy another round. The reason behind the tears had come later, when they were alone and she was tangled in his arms on the couch. She said she’d never realized before that no one had really told her that before. Her parents had as did all good parents but that wasn’t the same. Her previous boy friend had never made it a point, never stopped to look at her the way Nathaniel did. It was different. Not bad, she assured him, just different. It was never something she had really noticed before now.

She told him she’d always been the plain jane in school. Bethany had been beautiful, she said, much like their mother. Niamh had dug out an old photograph of the two to show him. She had been the one with the wiry build and awkward angles like their father. It had been that way all through high school. She didn’t dislike her figure; she was just ambivalent about it. Even though he disagreed with her assessment of herself Nathaniel admired the way she accepted what she saw as flaws.

And it made him want to change her opinion. It made him want to show her just how beautiful she was.

“If you could have the ideal girl friend—”

“I have the ideal girl friend,” he said, cutting her off.

She banged her fist against his thigh, “You’re hopeless! But really, what do you prefer?” She looked up at him. “I could dress up more if you prefer it or dress—”

 _It was her night to be interrupted_ , she thought, as he cut her off with a kiss. He pulled back, “I don’t want you to change anything. I’m perfectly fine with the way you look.”

She glared at him, “But let’s just say hypothetically!” She was determined not to be dissuaded. “What do you prefer?”

He pinned her to the couch with one of those rare, full smiles that crinkled the corner of his eyes as he leaned in to lightly nip at her collar bone and then feather kisses up her neck. “What do I prefer?”

She nodded, her eyes wide at the sensation of his lips against her skin. He worked his way up her neck, pausing to nip at her earlobe before replying.

“I prefer you completely and utterly naked,” he murmured in her ear. “But love, there’s nothing hypothetical about that.”


	5. Day Five

_What’s your character’s ranking on the Kinsey Scale?_

 **O-o-O**

“Truth or dare.”

Niamh glared at the woman over her drink and let out a lengthy sigh, “Really, Bela? We’re resorting to such childish games so early in the evening?”

“Oh, come off it Hawke. It’ll be fun,” she retorted with a wink. “Even Kitten thinks so.”

She was right, of course. Merrill sat at her elbow practically bouncing in her seat with excitement. “Oh yes, that sounds like fun! Please Ni?”

Niamh shot a look at her only hope of rescue but Aveline was on the phone and not paying any attention. Her long time friend caught her eye and smirked. “This was your idea, Niamh Hawke,” she scolded, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “Therefore you are on your own.”

Niamh didn’t think just because she had suggested a girl’s night out that she should be punished by having to play Truth or Dare, but when Aveline used her full name Ni knew she was out of luck. She took a long draught and looked up at Isabela, “Fine. Truth.”

“Have you ever kissed a girl?”

Niamh choked on her beer. She had been expecting all kinds of questions. What was her favorite position? Where was the most public place she’d ever had sex? How was Nathaniel in bed? Isabela was a very open person and her flirtatious manner was something Niamh had grown accustomed to over the past few years. She supposed the only thing that was actually surprising was that it hadn’t been asked sooner. “Really?”

“Oh yes, sweet thing. So spill.”

It was a simple answer. “No.”

Bela rolled her eyes at her friend, “Oh come on. That’s hardly fair. You have to dish more than that.”

“There’s nothing more to tell!” she protested.

“You must have kissed your mother or Bethany,” Merrill interjected. She didn’t notice the way Niamh’s hand tightened around her mug. It still hurt to think of them.

Aveline nudged her under the table and when Ni looked up the small smile playing on her best friend’s face told her that her pain wasn’t lost on everyone. But then Aveline had been with her through thick and thin since they were in junior high. “I don’t think that’s what she means, Merrill,” she explained gently.

“Look, I’m all for people loving whoever they want. Love and let love, I say,” Niamh explained. “I just love men… well, one man in particular.”

Isabela sighed longingly, “Yes, I suppose it’s hard to even think about straying when you have someone as sexy as Nathaniel to go home to.” There was something in her voice that Niamh wasn’t sure she’d heard before… It wasn’t envy. It felt more like regret. She reached across the table and patted her friend’s hand.

Isabela pulled up the mask she wore so fast no one would have noticed if they didn’t know her well. Her air of bravado was well executed. Niamh knew it because she had put on the same airs herself. “Fine, fine!” She waved her hand in defeat. “You like men. I get it. But…?”

Niamh knew what she was looking for; what she needed. “…But, if I ever did want to kiss a girl you’re the first one I’d come to, Bela.”

The other woman’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second; then she winked. “That’s my girl.”


	6. Day Six

_Describe your character’s happiest memory._

 **O-o-O**

The heat had been thick and oppressive that summer. It had rolled into that rented RV like fog over the lake near their home on those crisp, fall mornings she loved so much. The three kids had been in the back trying to work up the energy to play a card game or even talk, but the heat robbed them of the will to move at all. Instead they sat with their eyes staring out the oversized windshield while their parents rolled down the windows and sang oldies along with the radio.

She loved to listen to them. Their voices intertwined like two living things locked in some graceful dance. Their love and happiness was so tangible she felt like she could have caught the words like fireflies in jars to save for a rainy day.

Carver and Bethany complained about the singing, smashing their faces against the cushioned benches or plugging their ears in feigned exasperation. At six they preferred cartoons and air conditioning to road trips and radio sing-alongs. Still Niamh could see the excitement in their eyes; the thrill of the unknown that was their destination.

They were headed to the ocean. Father had bounded into their rooms early in the morning and roused them to the window to peer down at the dilapidated RV that he had steered into their narrow driveway. His voice was excited as he told them they were leaving in an hour. They were off to build sand castles and roast s’mores. They were going to play in the cool waters while the gulls screeched their irritation from the cloudless sky overhead. They were going to spend time together as a family in a place where the rest of the world couldn’t reach them for a while.

When they had finally sputtered to a stop right there on the beach the kids had erupted from the RV and raced across the sand, not caring that it burned the soles of their feet. They danced and laughed as they took in the shining expanse of water before them. It was bigger than they had dreamed it would be.

Niamh had helped her mother spread blankets out in the shade cast by the RV while her father had gathered up the twins. The two laughed as he leapt into the ocean with a child in each arm. The twins shrieked as the cool water swirled around them but father was dependable and strong. He wouldn’t let them go.

They had spent the week eating picnics on the sand and watching the stars shine in a sky that seemed so much bigger than it did back home. They laughed and loved and made memories that Niamh would never forget. And when it was time for them to go they did so with heavy hearts.

Niamh would always remember that summer they had spent a week at the sea when life had been perfect. She would remember the sound of the ocean and the burn of the sun and taste of chocolate and marshmallows.

And she would remember her parents singing.


	7. Day Seven

_Is there one event or happening your character would like to erase from their past? Why?_

 **O-o-O**

It was one of those days when the world seemed to be at war with everything. The sky, usually a brilliant azure, was dull and grey and crept in like an unsavory character ready to screw you over if given the slightest opportunity. The trees and grass were dull and limp; it wasn’t even fall but they appeared lifeless and despondent, as if sick of a life that hadn’t lived up to its promises.

She knew the feeling.

To her the world always seemed that way as soon as she got in her car and drove out of the city on her way to this one destination. She took the quiet back roads out to the country driving silently without even the radio turned on to break the silence. But then the radio reminded her of them.

Usually she extended an invitation to Carver when she went, but not today. Never today. She made this annual trip by herself and if he knew he never asked about it.

The cemetery was a small, beautiful little place with old growth willows interspersed between the graves. The branches dipped and swayed, brushing against the headstones as if they were keepers of the souls laid to rest there.

“Hi Bethy,” she murmured as she climbed the hill to the little plot where most of her family lay. Her voice was soft; muted by sorrow and the pain of tears both shed and unshed. She brushed a couple of leaves from the headstone and set down the bouquet of sunflowers that she always brought. They had been her sister’s favorite.

It had been more years than she cared to count since she’d gotten that call late one night. She’d talked to Bethany just a few hours earlier to take a rain check on their usual evening plans. It seemed impossible that in such a short time her baby sister could be taken from her. She hadn’t been sure how she’d gotten to the hospital but her mother had been there crumpled in a waiting room chair when she arrived. The doctor was an acquaintance and she had rested her hand on Niamh’s shoulder. She needed to tell someone what had happened and her mother had stoutly refused to hear the details.

Niamh didn’t want to hear it but she had squared her shoulders and nodded. A car had sped through the intersection downtown. It had broadsided Bethany’s car. EMS had attempted to resuscitate her in the field but she had been dead on arrival.

The blood had drained from Niamh’s face and she had sat down abruptly, leaning her head against her knees. It had been Aveline who had helped her up though she wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there. Her mother was gone; Aveline assured her Carver had taken her home. Niamh knew then that Leandra blamed her. Later she had been told as much and those blows had stung almost as much as losing Bethany did. She knew the words were only spoken in grief and in truth they hurt far less than the blame she laid on herself.

She’d run through that night a million times. She still did. When the nights were dark and she had the house to herself she sat by the window and played the events through again. Yet no matter how much she tried nothing she could think of would have spared Bethany. That hurt even more.

“Sorry, lovey, I always say I’m not going to cry when I come see you,” she said, wiping away a stray tear as she sat down.

She could almost feel her sisters fingers playing with her hair, though reason said it was just the wind. It had been one of her favorite things to do. Bethany knew just how to distract her from her studies or console her. When she’d lost her sister she’d lost the person closest to her heart.

So every year on the anniversary of Bethany’s death she came to this little cemetery to assure her she hadn’t forgotten her for a moment.

“I’d take it all back if I could. I hope you know that,” she whispered.

Somewhere, deep down, she knew Bethany did; but then she had always been the strong one.


	8. Day Eight

_Day of Favorites! What’s your character’s favorite ice cream flavor? Color? Song? Flower?_

 **O-o-O**

It was after three in the morning by the time she got home. Exhausted and more than a little world weary she collapsed in a kitchen chair with a sigh and leaned her head against the wood. She was so tired she was sure she could fall asleep right he—

 _Wait, what was that?_ She picked her head up and closed her eyes, even though in the darkened kitchen it made no difference, though it always seemed like it would help. Yes, she heard it. The soft tinkle of music spilled through her house and suddenly her feet didn’t seem so heavy anymore. Where was it coming from?

She wandered through the house listening for the music. The tune sounded so hauntingly familiar and yet her mind, frantic after a long day, couldn’t place it. She kicked off her shoes and shed her coat in the hall as she headed towards her bedroom. The soft swell of music seemed to originate from within.

She flipped on the light as she entered and stopped midstride. There on her antique bureau was the music box her parents had given to her when she turned five. It had been broken for years but despite that she had never been able to throw it away. It had sat unused but still loved. She had never expected she would again hear the little tune her father had hummed for her once upon a lifetime ago.

The box was different now; there was a little switch to flip in place of winding it up but she could hardly care. It worked. The music danced and flowed from the little box, neatly carved with a spray of orchids across the side.

A piece of paper was tucked beneath it. Pulling it out Niamh recognized Nathaniel’s handwriting.

 _I hope you don’t mind I had this repaired for you. Love you. N._

 _P.S. Check the freezer._

She didn’t have to look to know what she would find there; a carton of spumoni.

And the next morning as she indulged in a guilty pleasure of eating ice cream for breakfast she called to tell him how much his thoughtfulness meant to her and just how much he was her favorite.


	9. Day Nine

_Who does your character trust?_

 **O-o-O**

It had started with a pinky swear.

Back then they had been the two new kids in a junior high that had already established its’ cliques. They had bonded on the first day of school over the bland cafeteria food and mutual hatred for new schools. Since that day they had been as inseparable as best friends could be.

They had shared secrets. They passed notes. They had consoled each other through trivial things that accompanied childhood; trials that seemed so immensely complicated because they hadn’t yet been burdened with the difficulties of adulthood. When no boys asked them to the prom they went anyway and laughed and danced with each other.

College had been four years of attempting a balance of studying and fun; of finding that their ambitions and dreams would take them separate places but making yet another promise that it wouldn’t affect their friendship. And it hadn’t.

There was never a time when one couldn’t count on the other. There was never any doubt that their friendship would stand the test of time. They were sisters; blood relations be damned.

So when Niamh had no one else to turn to; no one else to trust with a secret that she couldn’t hold onto she knew where to go.

The door always opened, even at two in the morning.

“Aveline.” Niamh had sobbed and felt her knees go weak.

Her friend caught her as she always did. As Niamh felt her friend’s arms go around her she realized Aveline could probably do better without her. Through her sobs she told her friend as much.

“Nonsense, Niamh Hawke. Now tell me what’s wrong.” Her friend’s voice was firm as she guided her to sit on the couch.

She smiled through the tears. Raising her hand she extended her little finger, “I’ll tell you but you have to promise not to do anything about it.”

Green eyes took in the bruise starting under her friend’s eye and her swollen lip. Aveline knew what was coming, what admission her friend was making her promise not to act on. She had disliked Dean since Niamh had started up with him over a year ago. She had seen her friend’s bubbly personality, already diminished by Bethany and Leandra’s death, continue to deteriorate under the grasp of an unhealthy relationship. They also saw the complete and utter trust in her friend’s face and knew she needed that assurance.

Relenting she linked her finger with Niamh’s.

“I pinky swear.”


	10. Day Ten

_Can you define a turning point in your character’s life? Multiples are acceptable._

 **O-o-O**

The house was quiet except for a steady tapping. It was after one in the morning and Nathaniel had awoken to find the other half of the bed still empty. He hardly made a sound as he padded down the hall to the kitchen where his other half was bent over a notepad. She was busy tapping her pencil against the edge of the table as she studied the empty page before her.

“Niamh?” His voice startled her and he settled his hands on her shoulders reassuringly.

She let out a deep breath and peered up at him. “I’m sorry! Did I wake you?” she asked, instantly stilling her pencil and dropping it on the pad.

His mouth found the back of her neck and she shivered as he kissed her, his voice humming against her skin. “Not at all.”

When he pulled back she puffed out a sigh of disappointment that did not go unnoticed by Nathaniel. He laughed softly as he sat opposite her at the table. She looked down at her paper and then up at him, her eyes stilling on him but not meeting his eyes. “Niamh, what is it?”

Her teal eyes darted to his and he could see embarrassment and passion within their depths. “Your nakedness… it’s distracting.”

“I go shirtless at night all the time,” he replied.

“Yes, and it’s always distracting!” she retorted, but her mouth curved into a smile. The way she bit her lip made him want to distract her from what she was doing but she had obviously stayed up for a reason.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“I was doing an exercise with some of the high school students at the center about identifying turning points in our lives. I was trying to write down some of mine to share with them,” she explained. Her fingers splayed against the paper. “I just don’t know what to put down.”

“Well can you think of a turning point in your life?” he asked. His fingers curled around hers.

“I can think of many,” she replied. “Some more personal than others.”

He knew that tone. “Do you want to talk about it?”

At first he thought she would refuse, but the pinch at the corner of her eyes relaxed as she looked at him. “When my father died I realized just how much he’d been our family’s pillar of strength. We fell apart. Mother was distraught, Carver was angry and didn’t know how to handle it and Bethany…she looked to me. I could let the grief take me or I could be the person he wanted me to be. It was hard, but it had to be done.”

She remembered the way her father had called her over to him right before he passed. The man who was her hero, who had seemed so strong to her for as long as she could remember, now seemed dwarfed by that sterile hospital bed. He was gaunt and frail but his voice was still as strong as it had always been. His hand had brushed her cheek when she laid down beside him.

“I love you so much, little bird. You know that, right?” he asked. She had nodded, not daring to speak. “I know this isn’t fair, but I want you to promise to take care of your mother, Carver and Bethany. Can you do that for me?”

She had sat up, tears spilling down her cheeks, “Of course, papa! I promise I will! Please don’t worry about that. Please…” She had trailed off as he had gathered her against his chest again, comforting her as best he could.

And she had kept her promise; at least she had tried her best to.

Nathaniel squeezed her fingers gently, bringing her back to present. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

She came around the table and pulled him to his feet, wrapping her arms around him. “It’s the people in my life that make me strong. People like you.”

Standing on her tip toes she kissed his mouth and he teased her lips apart, reveling in the heat of her mouth. “You want to know what the turning point of my life is?” he asked, his lips still touching hers.

He felt the curve of her lips against his, “Of course.”

“Meeting you.”


	11. Day Eleven

_Is there an animal you equate with your character?_

 **O-o-O**

The world seemed different. Every one of her senses seemed magnified. Niamh felt her muscles pull then stretch and little sparks of electricity seemed to run through her veins. Opening her eyes she found a world blanketed in snow and so still it seemed unreal. It suddenly dawned on her that she had awoken outside, but the cold didn’t bother her. If anything it invigorated her.

Movement caught her attention as her brethren dashed into view. Youngsters wrestled and tackled one another, kicking up the fresh powder and yipping as they played. Her yellow eyes surveyed the rest of the clearing, coming to rest on the remainder of the pack lying off to her left. Bushy tails thumped against the snow as they noticed her attention. She stood and stretched before padding over to greet them with muted yips and rumbles, with an exchanging of licks and nuzzles. This was family. It was right.

Two half-grown pups intent on play bowled into her unintentionally sending them all sprawling. Instead of snapping she launched herself into the game tackling the smaller wolves with the ease of long practice and easily besting them at a game they had yet to master. They wagged their tails and licked her face when she stood over them with her tail held high, proclaiming her victory.

The pack stilled before they heard the call of the rest of their kin. The howls came from the south and she knew without being there that the scouts had found food. With a soft bark she gathered the rest of the pack and they set off through the silent trees.

This is what she lived for. Every day was a reestablishing of bonds between pack members. Every night was a symphony of voices rising to a starry sky. They hunted to survive and even that was a mutual endeavor for even if they were fed, alone they would wither. But together they could persevere through the harshest winters.

A whiff of prey reached her nose which quivered as it made its way through the pack, telling them the story that lay before them. A young buck, weakened by an old injury and lean winter was ailing. The scouts had scented him and tracked him to this glade where, reunited with the remaining pack members, they would give chase.

Her muscles quivered in anticipation as she greeted the scouts before they all fanned out to take their positions in reparation of the chase. The youngsters would remain hidden until the buck had been brought down; they were still too young to hunt.

She crept around the glade so the other could drive the buck towards her. Settling low into a copse she waited. Her ear perked up as the wind carried a cacophony of snarls and barks. Soon she could hear the heavy thud of a heart already pushed to the max as the deer darted her way unaware of the danger that lay before him. She was no cold-blooded killer but she would hunt and kill to provide for her pack and to ensure their survival.

There was a moment of sheer terror in her prey’s eyes as she leapt, her jaws closing around the fragile throat with a—Niamh jerked away suddenly, her heart racing in the aftermath of the most exhilarating dream she had in a long while.

Nathaniel was on his side with his back to her and she settled back down in bed, letting her arm slip around his waist as sleep laid its claim to her again. As she drifted off she swore she could still hear the faint cry of her canine brethren.

 

She was brushing her teeth the next morning when Nathaniel came in to take a shower. He leaned over and kissed her shoulder. “Good morning. It seemed like you were having an interesting dream last night,” he commented.

She blinked at him in the mirror and then bent to spit out the toothpaste. “An interesting dream? What do you mean?”

He smiled and she loved the way it reached his eyes. He laughed as he half turned, showing her a bruise on his shoulder, a bruise she must have given him. She winced and her eyes darted to his but their gray depths held only amusement.

“You bit me.”


	12. Day Twelve

_How is your character with technology? Super savvy, or way behind the times? Letters or email?_

 **O-o-O**

He had caught her in the act and he was going to make her confess. Carver stood, hands on hips, staring down at his older sister. He had come over a little early to their weekly Sunday dinner to find her in the living room. Scattered all around her were markers of varying colors and stencils in a barrage of sizes and designs. _Typical Ni_ , Carver sighed to himself.

“What?! Why are you shaking your head?” she asked.

“You insist you can use a computer, but I continually find you covered in ink stains instead.” He motioned to the array of supplied. “You can no longer say that you are technologically savvy.”

“I’ve never said that!” she protested.

 _Riiight_. He was fairly sure she had told him that just yesterday. “What is all this anyway?”

She pushed some large sheets of paper away to reveal posters for some event at the center. “We’re having an art fair at the center and I’m making posters.”

He sank down to the floor. “Have you looked in a mirror? With the amount of ink on you, you are a poster.”

She held out her hands and took inventory of the various blotches and stains of ink all over her fingers and arms.

“Did you even consider using a computer to make your posters? You can get them printed out in whatever size you want,” he added before she could raise an argument on the size of the paper she was able to print.

She opened and closed her mouth several times before she finally glared at him. “It’s more personal this way!” she countered.

He rolled his eyes, but smiled because he knew that would be her comeback. It was always her comeback. His older sibling outshined him in many ways—in most ways, but not with technology. She could maneuver through basic web surfing and checking her email but that was where her relationship with technology dissolved into a confusing, complicated mess.

“Whatever you say,” he said.

She looked around and then sighed before meeting his eyes. “Fine, Carver. Your sister is a mess and doesn’t mesh well with technology,” she admitted.

He laughed and stood as a knock sounded at the front door. He mussed her hair before striding away, jumping to the side to dodge a marker she launched at him. “Don’t let it get you down, sis. I still love you.”

His back was to her so he missed the little smile that played across her face at his own admission.


	13. Day Thirteen

_What does your character’s bed look like when he/she wakes up? Are the covers off on one side of the bed, are they all curled around a pillow, sprawled everywhere? In what position might they sleep?_

 **O-o-O**

It had been their morning ritual.

Every morning her father would sit himself down on the edge of her bed with a cup of steaming coffee and ask her where her dreams had taken her that night. She would wake in a tangle of blankets sometimes curled in a ball like a kitten or stretched out like she was flying. Malcolm enjoyed teasing her about it. Her bed was always askew when she opened her eyes to the morning sun peeking through her window.

Grand tales were woven while he drank his coffee. She would tell him about her adventures on a pirate ship with a mysterious woman who bore a pirate’s wits but with eyes as deep and filled with emotion as the oceans she sailed. Other times she had climbed on the back of a great dragon and when it ascended among the clouds she peered down at a world so far below them that she didn’t recognize it.

Her father would listen intently; his attention entirely focused on his daughter. He would ask her about the pirate’s ship and show her how he would have used her bed sheets to fashion sails if a mighty storm tore the others down. He might tie her quilt about her neck so her royal subjects sighed over their queen’s finery when she twirled on the ballroom floor with her king.

When his cup of coffee was done they would put her bed back together. Pillows would be picked up off of the floor where they had been tossed during an epic battle with a goblin king. Her comforter that looked like it had been caught in a tornado was fluffed and set right again. They would fold up her quilt to lay on the end of her bed and when they were done and everything was as it should be he would smile down at her and brush a kiss on her forehead before he went off to get ready for the day.

She had loved their time together every morning over that first cup of coffee. Even after he passed she sometimes woke with her ruby coverlet tangled around her legs as she lay half off the bed. Before she did anything else she’d pour herself a cup of coffee and sit on the front porch swing as she sipped the hot liquid and reminisced about the night’s adventures. She imagined what she would say, how he would laugh at her stories.

And when that last sip was gone she went inside to untangle sheets and smooth out her quilts in preparation of the coming night’s adventures and the following morning’s stories.


	14. Day Fourteen

_How does your character react to temperature changes such as extreme heat and cold?_

 **O-o-O**

“You can always put on more layers when it’s cold,” her father would say with a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. “But you can only take off so many clothes before you get arrested.”

She had adopted the saying and the sentiment behind it. When it was cold she curled up in her bed and enjoyed the pocket of warmth under her covers. She took the time to make tea and sipped it as she curled up on the couch with a good book. Even though the cold made her want to stay home where it was warm she felt exhilarated. It meant that the holidays were fast approaching and that soon the world would be blanketed in snow.

On the contrary when the oppressive heat of summer settled in it sapped her of the will to do anything but lounge on top of the covers wishing she couldn’t feel the sweat dripping across her forehead. Fans helped but she had to remain in one place and even when weighed down by the sticky heat of summer she hated to stay still for too long.

To counteract that effect she had started an annual tradition among their rag-tag group of friends. When the heat grew insufferable they took off for the beach for a long weekend filled with refreshing ocean breezes and cool waters. They would pile into Ander’s old van and open the windows as far as they would go. Laughter was the goal and differences were left behind while they escaped the confines of their workaday lives.

Somehow the beach always made things seem better; even if just for a short time. And sometimes in the whistle of the wind over that old dashboard she swore she could hear her father’s laughter, though it was probably just the heat playing tricks on her.


	15. Day Fifteen

_Is your character an early morning bird or a night owl?_  
 **O-o-O**  
She wished Nathaniel could be her alarm clock every morning. It would make her far more willing to get up though not out of bed. There was something about the way his hands traveled the lines of her body that flipped switches and ignited sparks of delicious pleasure that one could only fully appreciate when awake.

His dark eyes were locked with hers when she finally opened them and she raised her face to his so she could part his lips with her own. He hummed in appreciation as she nipped his lower lip and then soothed it with a dancing flick of her tongue.

This waltz they did on lazy mornings was a spontaneous thing. Each day was different and exciting; it might start with the brush of lips against skin or a gentle squeeze of fingers. It might be slow and languorous or fiery and passionate. Whatever the tempo they danced it willingly.

“Hey,” he whispered in her ear, the soft brush of air sending shivers down her spine.

She hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him down to her savoring the way his body fit against hers so perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle. When they broke apart, gasping for air she grinned up at him, “Hey yourself.”

The brush of his lips against her throat made her giggle. “Are you awake?” he asked looking down at her.

She brushed some hair out of his face and smiled up at him, “Getting there.”

She knew that answer wasn’t good enough for him; wasn’t good enough by far. He wanted her complete and undivided attention and he knew how to get it. The sheet was tossed aside and he pushed up her shirt, kissing her stomach and reveling in the way her breath caught as he worked his way further up her ribs.

His tongue swirled over her skin in a way that should have been illegal. She wanted to kiss him, wanted to taste his mouth but she couldn’t make herself pull him away from what he was doing. He had a way of being everywhere at once and he knew it full well.

About the time she couldn’t wait any longer she felt the vibration of his voice against her skin. “How about now?”

She tugged his face up to hers, “Now!” she exclaimed and kissed him.

He smiled and smacked her on the ass as he pulled back and rolled out of bed, to her very obvious dismay. “Good because it’s time to get up or we’re going to be late for brunch.”

She threw her pillow after him, “You’re a jerk!”

He leaned out of the bathroom and smiled, “I’ll have plenty of time to make it up to you tonight.”


	16. Day Sixteen

_Are there any blood relatives that your character is particularly close with, besides the immediate ones? Cousins, Uncles, Grandfathers, Aunts, et cetera. Are there any others that your character practically considers a blood relative?_

 **O-o-O**

They had this argument every year around Christmas.

“What has he ever done for us? Do you remember last year? He got drunk and hit on Isabela the whole night!” Carver argued as they sat at the kitchen table devouring the cinnamon rolls he brought every Saturday morning.

She groaned and dropped her forehead on her arm. She just wanted to sit here and savor the delicious treat he had brought her. She didn’t want to think about her uncle getting drunk and turning his attentions on one of her good friends. She had no fear that Bela could handle the man but she still felt bad.

 _Cinnamon rolls. Happy thoughts. Cinnamon rolls. Happy tho—_

“Well?” Carver prodded her with his fork.

She lifted her head so she could look at him. His blue eyes were intent on her face. “He’s the only family we have, Carver. It seems wrong to not extend an invitation at the very least. Maybe he won’t accept.” There was no hope for that. Their uncle had never refused an invite to any meal where he was not required to do anything but show up.

“That’ll be the day,” Carver said, rolling his eyes.

“What will be the day?”

Nathaniel had come in the side door. Every time he appeared in her kitchen after one of his shifts a knot of tension inside her eased. If someone had asked her if she was worried she would have said no, but she would have been lying. She was the same way with Carver. There had been a time when he would have been more than irritated that she asked him to call her after every shift ended but now it was habit. When he left the station he dialed her number. It didn’t matter what time it was.

“When our uncle refuses an invite to dinner,” she said.

He tossed his duffel bag down and accepted a bite of cinnamon roll from Niamh. “Is this the infamous Gamlen I’ve yet to meet?”

“The one and only.”

“You’re really insisting we do this? We’re not close and he’s hardly a charmer.”

Niamh had no doubt that this Christmas dinner would be just as disastrous as last year’s and the year before that. Despite it all he was family and while Carver and Niamh had each other Gamlen had no one. “We’re all he has, Carver. In the spirit of the holiday I think we should.”

He groaned and finished his treat. “Fine, fine, pull the ‘we’re all he’s got’ card. I’ll play along but you owe me.”

She took his plate and gave him a peck on the cheek as he headed for the door. “I won’t make you call him, how does that sound?”

He didn’t have to chew on that for very long, “Deal.” He gave her a bone-crushing hug, nodded at Nathaniel and headed out the door. “See you tomorrow.”

Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her waist as they watched Carver motor off. “Him not having to call your uncle is you owing him?”

She smiled up at him over her shoulder. “Works every time.”


	17. Day Seventeen

_What’s your character’s desk/workspace look like? Are they neat or messy?_

 **O-o-O**

The street lamps had turned on some time ago but Niamh was still at work. Reports were scattered all over her desk and she swore there was a diet coke buried under there somewhere but she’d be damned if she could find it. The center’s halls were dark and silent, foreboding to those who seldom visited; a brief respite to those who worked there day in and day out. The youthful exuberance of the kids who called this place their home away from home was a balm on the world weary souls of the people who worked here but at the end of the day the silence was a relief in and of itself.

“Did you lose your phone under all that mess?”

Niamh glanced up to see Carver leaning on the door frame. She couldn’t remember a time her younger brother had visited her at work of his own free will. It was surprising and it made her suspicious. Her eyes narrowed, “What’s wrong?” she asked.

He always rolled his eyes at her. It was as good as a greeting. Not offensive just predictable. “Nothing’s wrong. I tried calling you when I got off but you didn’t answer. I figured you’d be here.”

Carver had protested when she first insisted he call her at the end of every shift. He liked being on his own—making a place for himself. It had a taken a while but he had finally conceded that it wouldn’t be hard and now it was nothing more than a habit. He got off work, he called his sister. They were all they had left after all.

She blew out a long breath, sending the loose tangles of hair that had escaped their ties dancing across her face. “Shoot, did I miss that?”

The papers covering her desk seemed never ending. The more she shuffled, the more papers there seemed to be.

“Sis, give up. Why don’t I just call it?” Carver fished his cell phone out of his pocket. “Then we can go to dinner. I’m starving.”

“It’s on silent,” she groused. Carver’s laughter earned him a glare but he was completely enjoying this. She had always chastised him on his disorganization. Now the roles had been reversed.

“You’re way too happy about this,” she grumbled.

“It’s not too often when you're the messy one. I have to enjoy it while I can,” he retorted. He was leaning against the filing cabinet watching her with amusement.

She continued shuffling through the papers. She found the diet coke and her keys. She found a report she thought she had filed earlier, but still no phone.

“You could help,” she snapped.

“I guess.” Her phone dropped with a thunk in front of her and she snatched it up.

“You jerk! You had it the entire time?!”

“Like I said, I had to enjoy your messiness while I could.”

“Jerk!” she repeated, but she was smiling.

He shrugged, “I take after my older sister. Now come-on, let’s go get food!”


	18. Empty Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siofán Hawke (this is her first chapter) reminisces about the day Carver left for Ostagar.

That day sticks in her mind, the day her baby brother went off to war.

The sky had been a bright, vibrant blue and the last vestiges of summer had clung to their skin as beads of sweat when they’d walked silently down the lane towards the Great Road. By that time the bond that had once been so strong between them lay stretched and strained—a fragile remnant of what had been a lifeline for them both in the years past.

Once they reached the shadow of the highway they paused. It was a long moment before he looked down at her and she met his eyes even as she wondered when he’d gotten so tall. She still thought of him as her little brother. She still remembered when he’d been small enough to cradle in her arms, when she’d been able to give him piggy back rides and pull him up into the trees to get to the good apples at the very top. When had everything changed? When had they stopped becoming each other’s confidantes and become strangers?  

There had been no time to ponder it then, and as fate would have it they’d have precious little time to ponder it later.

“Stay safe,” Carver had finally managed and he’d patted her shoulder awkwardly.

Siofán had laughed because he wouldn’t appreciate her tears. “So says the one going off to war.” Her voice was lighter than it should be, lighter than the situation called for. This was grave. This was real. He was going off to battle the darkspawn. He might never come back.

The hug was an impulse and she half expected him to push her off as soon as her arms were wrapped as far around him as she could manage. “Don’t get killed, Carver. I mean it. Please come home.”

He had wrapped one arm around her shoulders long enough to say, “This is war. You know I can’t make any promises.” Then he had let her go.

She had crossed her arms over her chest as she stepped back, dust rising around them in the stale air. “Then promise you’ll try.”

The irritation in his voice had hurt her more than she let on when he’d sighed, “That’s another promise.” Over his shoulder there had been a group of men waiting for him. They jostled and shoved each other—the war they were marching to was still nothing more than a summons and a child’s delusion of honor and glory. Siofán knew them, other young men eager to prove themselves. “Look, sister, I have to go. Take care of Bethany and Mother for me.”

He didn’t wait for her answer before he turned and strode off to join the others. Siofán had bit her tongue and resisted the urge to call after him and Carver didn’t look back.

She stayed there long after he’d disappeared from sight.

“I promise.” 


End file.
